


Between the Lines

by moontear



Category: Final Fantasy XII
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-08
Updated: 2017-09-12
Packaged: 2018-11-10 19:02:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11132844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moontear/pseuds/moontear
Summary: It's Larsa's seventeenth birthday party, and Penelo was not, perhaps, as clear as she thought she was on her intentions. A ride of emotions ensues.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Square Enix’s Final Fantasy XII, nor am I making any money off this fanfiction.
> 
>  
> 
> Trying to start something to get back into the mood for the FFXII remaster! I hope other people are excited.
> 
> I haven’t really written anything in a while because I haven’t had the energy to write. So many things have been happening in my life. But I’m finally at a place where I want to get back into the groove of things.
> 
> Anyway, this is going to be mostly short chapters, as an experiment to get me to update faster. Please enjoy!

She had been planning to.

 

Planning to tell him.

 

Tonight was the special night, the night where everything would come together at last, and they could stop pretending. No more games, letters, feigned adventures, just… the two of them, as they were meant to be.

 

It was, she had come to think of it as, the moment when they could set aside their battle gear. She’d been looking forward to it on the way over, on the weeks leading up to this visit. He’d laugh with delight, and he’d put his large hands around her waist, pull her close to him, and then he’d—well, she’d thought with frequent blushes, he’d lean in, and he’d kiss her, and…

 

“Penelo?”

 

She was brought back to the present. Larsa stared down at her in pleasant surprise, his arm being held onto by some—sort of royalty, a princess, perhaps. They had been in the middle of exchanging a chaste kiss, and from where she was standing, Penelo could not miss the giant engagement ring on the woman’s finger.

 

Larsa started down the stairs toward her, his boots clicking on marble. “I thought you had said you could not come to my birthday party?”

 

 _I wanted it to be a surprise_ , Penelo thought. The words weren’t quite making it from between her lips. Her mouth was hanging open, and she was reasonably certain there were tears forming in her eyes, stinging horribly and maddeningly embarrassing. It didn’t help that the woman on Larsa’s arm had curled her lip up a little, as though she couldn’t believe what she was seeing. Yet when she turned to Larsa, there was a charming little smile on her face.

 

“Is this the Penelo I have been hearing so much about?” she asked, her accent thickly Rozarrian.

 

 _Oh, gods, I’ve got to get out of here_.

 

Penelo whirled and gathered up the skirts to her ballgown, and without further ado, promptly fled the ballroom.

 

It was more difficult than it should have been. There were crowds of partygoers, all laughing, some drunk, others just enjoying themselves. She had to shove her way through as violins and cellos started up a slow song in a far corner of the room, signaling the next dance. Guests checked their dance cards and began to file onto to the dance floor. After that, it was a little easier to at least make it to the border of the room.

 

She could feel daisies falling free from her hair behind her. Tears incessantly blurred her vision as she recalled a picnic in the gardens, where he’d tucked a few behind her ear and smiled at her, telling her how lovely she looked. And now, here he was, with some other woman, and oh, Penelo was so stupid, oh, yes, because how could she have thought, even for just a moment, a _second_ , that she could ever have what she wanted.

 

She thought she heard Larsa yell her name behind her, confused.

 

If it were anyone else, they would have stopped, listened to an emperor’s command.

 

_The doors!_

 

Relieved, Penelo made her way up the other ballroom stairs and past the guards, who permitted her to leave. She in such a hurry, a tangle of emotion running through her, that she wasn’t paying attention. In no time, she’d staggered out into the rose maze, which had been strung up with hundreds of dazzling little lights for the occasion. She turned, as though to go back inside, but could see Larsa’s very tall head over the crowd, nearly to her.

 

She shoved her shoes off, yanked up her skirts again, and made a lunge into the gardens, her stockings be damned. She did not care anymore where she was, only that she was as far away from him as she could be.

 

It was cool enough that evening that mist was out, touching upon her face. The sounds of the party faded behind her, the tinkles of glasses touching, the music, all of it quickly becoming a swirl of nothing. It was replaced with insects, with the brush of the breeze as it played over the hedges and tugged her hair free from its coif.

 

Halfway to the center of the maze, grief slammed into her so hard she staggered into the side of the maze. Sobs were queueing in her throat, making a desperate bid for freedom.

 

How could she have thought…?

 

How could she have hoped…?

 

She kept going blindly, making strangled gasps as she tried to keep the flood of tears at bay. Good gods, this was terrible, her nose was streaming, it was gross. She wiped at her face, staggering away from the prickly branches of the hedge. One foot in front of the other, she cautioned herself. One foot, then the other, back and forth, yes, that was the ticket.

 

One of the larger fountains loomed into view, and she fell onto the edge of it, staring down into the rippling water. There, she let everything free, hoping that the sounds of the water would drown her out. She gripped onto her heart, the stone of the fountain digging into the palm of her other hand. She hadn’t felt grief this complex since maybe her parents, and that was years and years ago.

 

She was such a blundering idiot.

 

“Penelo!” The gasp was slightly out of breath.

 

She didn’t turn around. She lifted both hands to her face and was careful to wipe her tears free and sniffle, even though it was a futile attempt. Rather like stoppering up a flood with a tissue.

 

“Penelo, what is going on, why are you upset?” Larsa’s gloved hand clamped over her shoulder, at once familiar and aching.

 

She pushed it away and rose from the fountain. She could hear the skirts of her new dress swishing around her legs, dragging on blades of dewy grass. “Just go away, Larsa,” she croaked. Her eyes felt swollen, hot. She knew she looked a mess. She had never been a pretty crier.

 

“No! Not until I understand what has you so upset!” He reached for her again.

 

Again, she dove out of the way. “It doesn’t matter!” The sobs were coming again, damned things. She had to go back the way they came, find the exit from there. She would not be able to find refuge here, compose herself until she could leave in a more dignified way. He wasn’t going to let that happen. “Okay, just _go_!”

 

His hands gripped her elbows and jerked her forward. To comfort her, she dimly realized. Instinct reared, and she shoved her hands into his chest hard enough to send him tottering back. He stared at her in surprise, in hurt, the expressions mingling on his face. Once upon a time, she would have felt instantly sorry. Not now. Not when it felt like someone was wrenching a knife through her insides.

 

“Penelo,” he said more softly now. “Penelo, whatever it is, we can work through it together. You are my best friend. I do not understand—”

 

“Was it fun, watching me make a fool of myself?” she choked out.

 

“A fool—? Penelo, what—”

 

Anger was rising to the surface now, drowning out the pain. She let it. It was far easier to be angry than it was to be sad. “Larsa, I practically threw myself at you! I couldn’t have been clearer on how I felt!”

 

His features changed then, an empty mask sliding into place. She recognized it as his politician’s face.

 

“No!” she yelled. “You don’t get to do that, you don’t get to shut _me_ out! Not after everything we’ve been through! We’re best friends! Face this like you care about me, not like I’m some—some bit of duty you’ve got to make yourself do!”

 

“And what would you have me do, Penelo?” The words were controlled, precise.

 

He may as well have slapped her.

 

Lips trembling, she forced a smile from them. “Nothing, Larsa. Enjoy your seventeenth birthday. She’s lovely. Truly.”

 

There weren’t any tears to shed on the way back inside. Two could play at that game.

 

But the raw, hollow feeling had yet to leave her, and shadowed her much like their friendship once had.


	2. Never Catch Up to You

_Six months later…_

“Starting to become a regular here, girl.”

 

Penelo knocked back the rest of her drink before clinking it back against the bar. She dragged her fingers through her loose curls and sighed. The bartender was turning nosey, thinking he had some sort of kinship with her because of her frequent visits. Small talk, to Penelo, didn’t translate into any sort of bond, but clearly the gentleman across from her didn’t feel that way.

 

“Yeah,” she said in a neutral tone. Be too aggressive, he’d get offended, think she had a chip on her shoulder. (Though he wouldn’t be too off the mark.) Be too nice, and he’d turn all chummy, and Penelo wasn’t drunk enough for that quite yet.

 

“New to the city?” he fished.

 

“Sure.” She’d visited a lot, she just hadn’t ever had an apartment here.

 

“Should be careful. Pirates and the like still troll the docks, see. Now and again they come further into the city, lookin’ for trouble.”

 

“Thanks for the warning.” Penelo nudged the small glass toward him.

 

The man raised his eyebrows. He had nice brown eyes, a shaved head, and a wild sort of beard the color of soot. “Confident, eh?” But he pulled free the scotch Penelo had hinted at and poured out a finger.

 

“Not confident.” Penelo tossed it back again, grimacing at the burn that tarried down to her stomach. “I’ve just faced worse.” She tapped her knuckles a couple of times on the bar and slid from her stool, leaving gil in her wake. “Thanks.”

 

“See you later!” he called after her.

 

Penelo didn’t reply.

 

 _Should probably learn his name_ , she thought.

 

Just as she reached the door, a tall, blond man entered, drawing her up short. She stared at a clean-kept beard and a scar marring handsome features. It was a face she hadn’t seen in a while.

 

“What are you doing here?” It came out accusatory. Crap. The liquor was coloring her thoughts. The appearance of this man reminded her of the things she was trying to forget.

 

Basch inclined his head. He was wearing civilian clothes, and it was strange, because, as far as Penelo was concerned, he hadn’t donned such an attire since their journey together. She was sure he probably did on his off days around the palace, but she’d never been there for that. An “off” day for Basch was rare.

 

“I think you know, Penelo.” His smile was soft, warm, familiar.

 

“He’s married.”

 

Basch sighed and looked down, as if he had been expecting this. It wasn’t very helpful toward Penelo’s mood. “…Penelo…”

 

“No. I’m not doing it. Okay?” She brushed past him.

 

“He needs you,” he said to her back, turning with her.

 

She rocked to a halt.

 

Took a breath.

 

Closed her eyes.

 

_Damn it._

 

“That’s not fair,” she said, with some heat underlying the words.

 

“Life rarely is,” Basch replied. “So some find it best to make do. In the meantime, he’s distracted. Inconsolable.”

 

“Last I heard, Archadia was faring well.” She finally turned around and folded her arms. It was both to appear intimidating ( _haha_ , she thought), and to ward herself against the coming conversation. Basch was persistent. He wouldn’t leave empty-handed.

 

She hoped he liked being disappointed, because there was no other way this was going to go.

 

“For now,” Basch conceded. He had one hand resting casually on the hilt of his sword at his side, more habit than anything else. “It has only been six months.”

 

Six months, five days and some change…

 

But who was counting?

 

“Well, he has his wife now, doesn’t he?”

 

At this, Basch’s expression shifted from good-natured and patient to stern. “Penelo…”

 

“I’ve gotta go, okay? I’ve got some place to be.”

 

“Do not be so naïve. It is a political marriage—”

 

“And I’m not interested in being his mistress!”

 

Basch’s face went blank from surprise. After a moment, he ventured into the silence, “…What?”

 

“Oh, he didn’t tell you that part?”

 

“He never said anything about a mistress—”

 

“He doesn’t have to.” Penelo’s voice was harsher than she meant it to be. Basch was her friend. She didn’t want to be rude to him. But honestly, this entire thing was exhausting, and she was ready to move on with her life already.

 

She took several steps toward him. She wanted him to consider her expression, her eyes, and see everything she put into her next words. “I came to tell him I was in love with him. He knows exactly how I feel. If he wants me to come back, it can’t be for just friendship. He wouldn’t do that to me.” At least, she hoped not.

 

Basch hesitated. “Penelo, I—far from wanting to hurt your feelings, I only wish to caution that you were his best friend. For many, many years. The two of you went through trying, incredible things together. All of us did. Do you not think that perhaps he simply misses his friend?”

 

It was a bit of a blow. She did her best to keep it off her face. She had thought that there was a chance that it could be as much. “Well, then he can find a new friend. Because it’s cruel to ask me to—to go there, to be only his friend, knowing how I feel, knowing how much it would hurt me. He _knows_ how much it would hurt me.”

 

He looked away and placed a hand to the back of his neck.

 

“…He doesn’t even know you came here, does he?”

 

“He… he does not, but that does not mean that this is not dire—”

 

“Is the empire in danger of falling?”

 

“No—”

 

“Then it’s not really dire, is it?”

 

“Penelo—”

 

“No!” she burst out. People in the tavern were turning to look in their direction. Penelo fought to lower her voice, though her heart was pounding and blood was roaring in her ears. Panic had nestled safely behind her ribs and was urging her to escape, escape now. “He hurt me… Gabranth. I’ve spent so many years with him, and he… he didn’t even tell me he was getting engaged! He was hiding it from me! Why would he do that?”

 

Basch looked at a loss.

 

“That’s what I thought.” Penelo sucked in a breath. “I have to go. I can’t go there. He hasn’t said a word to me. And now you’re here, vouching for him, when he didn’t even send you… I have no reason to want to go back. Why would I put myself through that agony?”

 

“Do you not think, if you love him… is it not your duty to—”

 

Penelo whirled and stormed out.

 

She couldn’t blame Basch for his last words. He was acting for his emperor. It was the only reason he would say something so selfish.

 

And as she stormed home through the streets to her apartment, tears stung her eyes. She was trying to forget all of this… trying to be strong, and carry on… and for what? So Basch could come here and stir everything up all over again?

 

But the worst part was, she thought as she locked her door behind her and leaned her forehead against it. The worst part… was that Larsa hadn’t even sent him…

 

So how was she supposed to go to him?

 

_You’re turning so bitter…_

 

Maybe she was. Maybe she was changing a lot. But every day, her heart ached with a void she could not fill, and didn’t know if she ever would. How was she supposed to stay happy in the face of that?

 

She sniffled and wiped her tears away with her wrist.

 

_I miss him so much._

 

* * *

 

 

Two weeks passed in a blur. On the fourteenth day, Penelo came into her apartment, her pocket heavy with the gil she’d earned. Tracking down a behemoth den and slaughtering the cubs pulled at her heart strings, but she had seen firsthand what damage they could do when they grew up. She still had a scar on her side where the Behemoth King they’d hunted for Montblanc had tried to gore her.

 

She kicked her new boots off and tossed her gear onto the chair in her living room. A dagger, a pouch of spellstones, thick leathers for armor, and one long behemoth fang she’d found in the den. She planned on bringing it to a blacksmith to get it turned into an intensely lethal weapon. Behemoth teeth carried were packed full of all sorts of useful qualities. They could rend flesh, puncture bones. It would make taking down hunts much easier, if she were in a situation where she couldn’t make use of her magicks.

 

Once upstairs, she heated up the fire magicite for a hot bath. She soaked for nigh on a hour, getting rid of the dirt and blood, and then just laying back and watching the steam make patterns on the ceiling.

 

It wasn’t until she was coming downstairs afterward, toweling her hair dry, that she saw the piece of parchment on her kitchen table. She paused, holding the towel wrapped around her body to her chest, and reached out. Something from Vaan? She hadn’t seen him in months. It would be nice to hear from him again. But then, how would he have gotten into her apartment, and why would he have just left a paper…?

 

Larsa’s handwriting met her eyes, and her heart squeezed into a vise.

 

_Penelo, if you could find it within yourself to greet a dear old friend, please come to the palace at your earliest convenience._

_-L_

The hell…?

 

Penelo looked over her shoulder in the direction of her front door. Who had broken in? Basch? An imperial? The thought chilled her, mostly because if they could do it, so could a thief off the street. She needed to get better locks.

 

Heart hammering, she turned back to the parchment in her hand before crumpling it.

 

An imperial summons.

 

He’d worded it very nicely, but she knew what it was.

 

“Guess I’m going to see him, after all,” she muttered.

 

Did he know Basch had tried to petition for him on his behalf? Probably not. Which meant that he wanted to see Penelo all on his own. She would have been happy for it… yet her mind spun. Given the way they had parted, and how he was now married, and also how they hadn’t written to each other in half a year… why would he want to see her? Didn’t he know how much it would hurt her?

  
Did he just not care anymore?

 

She inhaled slow and deep.

 

It didn’t look like she had much of a choice. She could put it off, but he would officially send Basch after her. And she didn’t really feel like being forcefully carted back to Archades. She wouldn’t put it past Larsa. He didn’t like hearing no—not from her.

 

Best to get her things together and make the trip. Get it over as quickly as possible, and then she’d be back home, free to grieve on her own, free of imperial ties.

 

She wondered if she could make it through this in one piece.

 

Probably not.

 

With a heavy heart, she marched upstairs to get ready.


End file.
